


What Carries Us From Room to Room

by HQ_Wingster



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Affection, Coffee, Cold Weather, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Early Mornings, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Growing Old Together, Heart-to-Heart, Introspection, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Old Married Couple, Relationship Study, Sharing Body Heat, Short & Sweet, Sunrises, Tea, Tenderness, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:54:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29391564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HQ_Wingster/pseuds/HQ_Wingster
Summary: It had been one of those mornings where Winter was at the threshold, where trudging to the garden took a bit longer than usual, as a pitch of tea, a pot of coffee, and two men past their prime were fumbling for a blanket. Since neither wanted their own, they shared one at the moment. It was the best decision they ever made — although neither would admit it.When a hard frost in February makes it difficult to enjoy his morning, Tom nudges for his little furnace to join him out in the garden. Because warming charms and thick blankets aren’t as cuddly as his husband while Harry wheezes that forty years have done nothing to make him less evil. Yet still, he gets up and yawns into his coffee. Soon after, he’s shuffling while hand-in-hand with Tom.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	What Carries Us From Room to Room

**Author's Note:**

> As Winter rears its head and marks a claim onto my soul, I find myself growing soft when I think of tomarry growing old. Thinking about them in their sixties and enjoying fragile moments together — my old soul had a blast just writing this a few hours ago.

Had forty years taught him anything, as he buttoned at Tom’s coat, perhaps he learned that in loving him, he had to do so in a certain way: where openly, he ought to voice it and make it clear through his hands because as sharp as Tom was, he was kind of oblivious to things like this; where honestly, he ought to mean it and Tom should catch it when he grinned and if the latter couldn’t buy it, he’d have to figure something else; and where with now, daresay  _ —  _ have it imprinted upon his soul so that when Tom buttoned him back, he’d feel it tinker beneath his palms.

No jumper, no jacket, no scarf could obscure it: this music was for him and like a pianist, Tom caught it. The slight curls in his hair came to bob as he nodded, as he heard waltzes and a march down the aisles of his fingers. They grew softer when he approached and then lingered at Harry’s collar. Where for a moment, he looked ready to fuss him about something. But to Harry, he knew that look and all the creases accompanying it. He reached lightly to guide him down and to rub the sores from his hands. He clutched them still as they made their way from the bedroom to the kitchen. Where with a flick of his tongue and a bit of  _ ‘show off’  _ from his Tom, a pitch of tea and a pot of coffee followed them out and into the garden.

But before then, there was a  _ ‘Merlin!’  _ and a  _ ‘Circe’s jumper!’  _ when Harry wheezed. He snapped a blanket to come follow them and it curled around his husband. And in return, he got a hiss that could’ve been  _ ‘thank you’  _ or  _ ‘you idiot’  _ because this was large enough for two people and yet, Harry wasn’t under it. He chattered he didn’t need it because Tom needed it more, but the hunches in his shoulders wouldn’t have fooled anyone. So Tom squeezed him to come over, never budging until Harry did. He wrapped the blanket around him tightly and squished Harry to his person.

It would’ve seemed noble and chivalrous, sweet and polite, but Harry knew what he was doing when Tom curled him to his side. Because he wanted “his little furnace” to be even closer than he had been, because he wanted “his little lion” to be right here  _ —  _ where he could have him. As they shuffled, as they walked, as their drinks trailed behind them. As they squeezed, as they hugged, as the wind came around them. Whipping with icicles and biting into their cheeks, tearing at their blanket and howling in the morning. And were it not for a charm or their drinks overhead, you would’ve found them as statues when they huddled in the garden. About a foot away from the patio, Harry cursing beneath his breath; about an inch away from his husband, Tom was snuggling with his head.

Where every curl he had left met the twigs of Harry’s hair  _ —  _ which not to say he was balding or that the other was getting there, but the bird’s nest upon Harry had gotten sharper over the decades. More windswept and messy: it wouldn’t surprise Tom if he found eggs, or if there was a family of small birds finding refuge within the strands. And likewise, with his own curls, it wouldn’t surprise Harry if there was a snake currently sunning itself upon his head because Tom was now its saint. And the thought was there because it happened: not now, but yester-year. When there was a hatchling on Tom’s head and it scared the  _ ‘Jesus!’  _ out of Harry, leaving him on the edge of a heart attack when Tom explained where he found it.

And just the memory of that incident made him nuzzle a little further: in that Tom was a bleeding heart with every year he got older. There was a soft spot inside of him that would do anything for another: whether big or small, snake or not at all, nefarious unto Harry or pleasantly contrary. And because this was Tom, he would never admit to it. Leaving his older by five months snickering right beside him; poking if forty years had done something to right him, they helped Tom find a heart. Or more accurately, they helped him know that having one wasn’t wrong and that he could feel  _ —  _ like anyone else  _ —  _ if he was comfortable in doing so and was around those he trusted. 

Like how right now, he was comfortable in just sharing this moment as they weathered through this morning with a blanket and their beverages  _ —  _ waiting for the sunrise so they could bathe beneath its light, feeling it catch and intertwine with who they were in this life. And unspoken when he wanted this, when he pulled Harry out of bed and coaxed him to come out here and to brave the cold along with him, was a simple request:  _ with what they had left with each other, he wanted to spend that together. _

Just as Harry had shared with him the many colors of his world, to do the same with his husband meant the world to the Slytherin. So even though it was cold, it wasn’t so when he had him. And if it was too much for them to bear, they were glad they had each other.

**Author's Note:**

> [ Tumblr](https://joeys-piano.tumblr.com/) |[ Twitter](https://twitter.com/joey_wingster)
> 
> With all the 394-worded ficlets I’ve been writing this past month, I was a little worried that I lost my “wordiness” as a writer. Good to know that I haven’t!
> 
> Happy Lunar New Year, everyone!   
>  _ Chúc Mừng Năm Mới! _


End file.
